Mom

I see a ton of different kinds of moms each day at work. Some are very involved. Some not at all. Some moms get really gussied up to visit our building. Some don't even bother getting out of their pajamas. I imagine that some read with their kids at home, while I know in my heart that others do not. Some work hard. Some don't work, leaving us to do the mothering. It all seems to even out. But I don't like to see kids not getting what they need from their actual mothers. I'm glad to give a pep-talk, or bring in S.'s too small clothing to share, I'll always give a half-body hug, or wipe away tears. If you say you feel sick, there is no bigger sucker than me, and I'll let you go right to the nurse's office to have yourself checked out. But the love that some of these kids need, really needs to come from their own mothers.

It gets me thinking every time. About my own mother. And what she has done for me. We all have flaws, and my mother is no exception. But she got a lot right. And I'm grateful every day. I always had enough to eat. Never went to school needing clothing. She wasn't a super "huggy" kind of mom, but when the chips were down, I knew she was in my corner. The moments I got her to myself were few and far between, but it was like a ray of light in my life to have her talk to me one on one. She knows my hurts, she knows what I am interested in. She must keep a running tally of which one of her kids likes what, which one hates this or that, who to send the book on such and such topic. I can't keep track of my one child's whims, but she did, and does, for eight of us. She forgives a lot. And I can't imagine raising eight opinionated, messy, hell-bent on destruction children. Wild animals might be a more apt description. I have no idea how she survived us. And managed to teach us a few niceties along the way.

Yes Mom, I put my napkin in my lap. And we always have cloth napkins at dinner. We eat as a family. Every single night. The (outdated info., I know) four food groups are represented. Dinner is never just one color. Fried food is kept to a minimum. I always buy wheat bread. I currently have about 5 different kinds of cheese in my refrigerator. And there are three pounds of butter in the freezer. I can't leave dirty dishes in the sink without washing them before I go to bed. There is always fresh fruit arranged in a bowl somewhere in the house.

I would never hang a sheet in the window as a curtain. All my beds have sheets, mattress pads, pillow cases, bedspreads. Because I am your daughter, I must make my bed. I cannot crawl into an unmade bed, even if I have to make it right before I get right back into it. Which only happens if I've been sick. To leave an unmade bed through the day is alien and could ruin my entire day.

I have little trash cans in each room. You taught me that, too. If nothing else but to give the smallest child some sort of chore. I can still hear you saying, "So-And-So, empty the little trash cans in each bedroom into the big garbage can, then you can Windex the sliding glass door."

You just never know how your kids are going to turn out. It is a huge gamble. But know that I know how to properly iron a shirt, and pants, and skirts. I fold towels the same way you did, because they look nice sitting on a shelf that way. We always have washcloths and hand towels. And (most of the time) the toilets are clean, and there are no tooth-paste flecks on the mirrors. I still sweep like you do - although it took me the longest time to get the knack of that. Pretty sure I was 18 before I mastered sweeping into a dust -pan. So it was just in the nick of time - before I left home.

If I can't see the lines on the carpet from the vacuum, it just bums me out. And I know the best way to dust is with a just barely damp cloth. No fancy dusting agents for me.

You're the reason I love to read. Kids do what they see their parents do. I remember you always had a book going. You are also why I know more than is strictly necessary about Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and Ben Franklin. You are also the reason I wanted a flag for the front of my house. Skeptical Gen-Xer that I am, you always made sure your kids were proud to be Americans. You're the reason I make sure S. reads every day. And why she has read all the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books, the Little House books, and Beverly Cleary books.

I know without a doubt that if I hadn't been raised by you, I wouldn't love the pretty things in life. Flowers. Artwork on the walls. Bathroom towels hung just so on the racks. I know I got my love of pretty dishes from you. And having things in my home that uplift, remind me of special occasions, a place I want to travel to.

You're the reason I have any confidence in my abilities. At work, I push myself out of my shell and make sure I chat with everyone I see during the day. If I want to make something in the kitchen, or paint a painting, or (heaven help me) sew something - I remember you letting me draw or paint, cook or sew - and no-matter how terribly whatever I was doing turned out, you made me feel good about it. So, be comforted, you now have a thirty-some year old daughter who will experiment with a complicated recipe, paint something to go in a blank spot on her wall, and (again heaven help me) sew her daughter a difficult Easter dress with matching corduroy jacket - all because you never said, "that is terrible, what were you thinking?"

So, thank you mom. Just know that a few things actually did make it through my thick skull. Thanks for being a good teacher. Thanks for being in my corner.